Young One
by Demigirl17
Summary: Mycroft, John and a very unwillingly Sherlock are off to the planet Goria. When the planets councilmen contemplate leaving the Republic, diplomacy might not be in the boys' favor. With tensions raising between Mycroft and Sherlock about the way of raising a padawan, distractions are ensured. Which will come as a problem when an old enemy returns to seal the deal. Did you miss me?
1. Chapter 1

"Because I cannot, brother."

Mycroft rested casually against the long pillars outside of his little brother's quarters. Sherlock was refusing for the third time to accept the mission laid out for them by the council. Smugly Mycroft wondered how much longer he should let Sherlock fight him before bringing the younger Jedi to heel. His brother's arms were crossed, his brow furrowed with another forming argument.

"John's shoulder still pains him, he still has night terrors, I am exiled, and my brand, Mycroft. I cannot go back."

Mycroft pushed himself from the marble slowly, relishing his moment over his brother. "The council commands it, Sherlock. Yoda himself has ordered you with me."

His brother turned, dramatic as ever, his lip held between his teeth.

"I refuse it."

"I could order you as the higher rank."

Sherlock cast him a dark look. "I'd like to see you try."

"Master Yoda, then," Mycroft said arrogantly. "You and he have always had a close relationship."

His brother ran both hands through his hair, mussing his already unruly curls.

Sherlock.

If only the elders of their village had named him something different. Something to please their father, Sherlock never would have known the sting of the Sith's wrath. Sherlock may have never left their mother's side, he could have grown up happy.

Despite their differences, that thought often pained him.

"Sherlock, we won't let them see your brand. Your identity will be concealed, I only need a fellow Gorian for your nature and for your past. Moriarty seeks our home, we must convince Goria to side with the Republic."

"It is not me I worry for." The look Sherlock gave him was near to pleading. "Bastards cannot have bastards. John stinks of me, he is all but mine. No don't look at me like that," Sherlock snapped as his brother raised two unconvinced eyebrows. "By their standards, he is my cub. He is only my padawan to me, you know this."

Oh yes.

He knew exactly what the padawan was to his brother.

"Our planet does not enjoy outsiders, you must come. On this mission you shall be Master Sigerson Rathbone, your padawan need not accompany us if you are concerned."

Sherlock snorted. "You do not know John."

He turned away, neither accepting nor declining the mission. He stalked back into his quarters, the door slamming back in Mycroft's face.

The master sighed.

He took it as acceptance.

Very well.

oOo

His nine year old was peeping over their sofa.

"Little one," Sherlock said with soft annoyance. John's blue eyes were doing their best to appear innocent, but excitement was weedling its way into his face. At last the padawan dropped the façade and ran to his teacher breathlessly.

"You accepted it!" The boy tugged eagerly at his sleeves. "You accepted Master Mycroft's mission!"

"Not willingly." Sherlock ran a hand over the growing boy's hair. John frowned at his master's displeasure, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Sherlock's side. The knight allowed his padawan's comfort for only a moment before twisting away.

"Have you completed your lessons for the day, John?"

The boy shifted uneasily.

That was…odd.

His padawan sucked in a deep breath. "Master Plo would like to speak to you about my performance in sabers' class today."

If the boy was doing something wrong why hadn't Mycroft told him?

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow, resulting in a guilty look from his apprentice.

So it was treachery then.

Taking a small step closer, he pulled the child closer. His sharp gaze ran over the boy's tense figure. He gave a small sniff and stepped back.

"Stars, John. Again?"

"It wasn't my fault, Master! Honest!"

John had managed to, once again, destroy one of the temples training sabers. It was obvious from the stench of burning metal and ash under the boy's ears. He had been forbidden from using his full light saber and had successfully broken six trainers before this. Sherlock gave the boy a small shake.

"If you continue down this path-"

"I know, I know, I know," his padawan waved a dismissive hand.

"I had one hundred and forty four by the time I was knighted. Do try not to pass me, padawan." Sherlock bent to nip the boy's ear rather roughly and rose to his standing position. John danced around his feet.

"So we can go? To see your home planet, I mean. That's so wizard, Master!" John flopped on their sofa, his pack was discarded neatly in the corner next to his boots and robe. The child stretched himself out with a soft yawn. "You could see your mum again."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and made the boy scoot. "You live in delusion, little one. I have been exiled from my home planet, you know this. If do see my mother, it will not be for a grand reuniting."

"I dunno, Master." John laid his head in Sherlock's lap and gazed up at him. "If I saw my mother again, I'd at least say hi."

"Would you extend the same courteousy to your father?" Sherlock caressed the blond hair tenderly.

"No," the boy said darkly.

Sherlock bent forward to kiss the smooth brow. "It would not be wise to see any who would know my name, John."

His padawan accepted the answer with grace. Truthfully the boy was probably overjoyed to see his master's home world. John was rare like that, delighting in what no one else would. His padawan fell asleep in his lap shortly after.

There was an eerie feeling about the mission he could not shake.

oOo

John was eagerly packing his things.

The idea of a mission with both Master Mycroft and Master Sherlock sent him into a joyous frenzy. He stuffed Mako in his bag last, even though he was now nine years old his companion still proved useful.

Master had an unusual hard time saying no when the boy was curled around his bear, giving him pleading looks.

Plus his mother had given it to him, and he was not keen to part with it.

Even if he was nine standard.

John shouldered his pack happily and ran to find his master in the doorway. A look of pure distain was plastered across his face. John felt his grin sliding slowly away, Sherlock did not comfort him.

"I suppose a long lecture about doing what I say is unnecessary," he said glumly.

"I can remember the last one," John grumbled back.

With a stiff nod, Sherlock guided his padawan from their quarters. His less than delightful mood never changed, in fact the closer they came to the hangar bay, the darker his mood became. They trudged silently down the grand hall side by side, John noticed his mentor's stiffening posture. John stopped him suddenly.

"Can't you tell Master Mycroft no?" John asked quietly. "You don't want to go, and he shouldn't make you."

Sherlock sighed. "My brother has gotten the whole council behind him, John. It is unlikely that I can refuse."

"Why do they want you so bad?" John asked as they started walking once more. His teacher simply shrugged.

Master always shrugged when he was done talking. It drove John bantha mad sometimes.

Mycroft was waiting for them, leaning boredly against their shuttle. Sherlock scowled and stalked pass him without so much as a greeting. John rolled his eyes and bowed deeply to his second favorite master. Mycroft bowed elegantly in response.

"Still not taking after Sherlock, I see," the master said coolly.

"He's in a bad mood," John said with another eye roll. "There are times when he can be polite."

"I shall have to take your word for it, youngling."

John cringed. He did not hate the word, because Jedi did not hate.

But he really, really, really disliked it.

"Come along, John," his master called from the ship. The boy bounded up the stairs two at a time, with excitement clear in his face. His master may not have been happy about their destination, but flying was always John's favorite past time.

"Master, may I sit with the pilot?" he begged.

"Little one," his master scolded halfheartedly, "put your things away first. I grow weary of cleaning up behind you."

John snorted. "Yes, Master. Forgive my uncleanness, and the experiments I leave lying about the quarters."

Sherlock smirked and pulled his child closer with a guiding hand on the back of the young neck. John peered up at his teacher, mirroring his eyebrow quirk.

"Brat," Sherlock said fondly.

The boy reward him with a grin of flat white teeth, Sherlock carded his hand through the blond hair almost happily. John pressed his head into the strong stomach, relishing his master's comfort and sighed. "Feeling less useless, Master?"

It earned him a low chuckle. "Less useless, my wayward brat."

The unspoken word, attachment, breezed through the Force, but by now the warning was simply ignored. They were long since pass that.

"Go," Sherlock dismissed his padawan with a firm tug of the ear. The boy leaned into his master's leg briefly, before obediently scampering off to sit with the polit.

He passed an angry looking Mycroft in the hall.

Uh oh.

oOo

Honestly, his brother could not take a joke.

"I reek of him!"

"Calm yourself, brother mine. It will only last the flight. Besides I thought you admired Dooku." Sherlock had spent the day before concocting a vial of Dooku's scent and had left it in his brother's quarters to smash as well as scent him. If he was going to be miserable, so was Mycroft.

Mycroft openly seethed. "He is not someone I wish to stink of!"

Sherlock threw his hands in the air angrily, "Well Dooku smells better than your sire! Besides it won't last. You've chosen your scent, it's as good as in stone."

"My sire? Our father," Mycroft said pointedly.

Sherlock shook his head slightly.

No. No, his father had passed on four years ago.

And Sherlock had taken his scent.

"It will wear off," Sherlock repeated in a bored fashion. Adults' scents could not change permanently, they might be temporarily masked, but not changed. A child's scent could be changed several times until the age of twenty standard. It made it imperative that John smelt like him as often as possible.

Sherlock's fingers drummed listlessly on his chair's arms. Contemplating going to find John, he began raising from his chair. The boy's curiosity in ships often brought his teacher silent glee. The questions the boy asked were creative and genuine, the questions of a child with a bright future.

His brother's strong arm stopped him.

"I was wondering, since you were so worried about John being thought of as your cub, if you would let me scent him," Mycroft said smugly.

Absolutely-

"It isn't as though you are overly attached to the boy."

Sherlock growled low. "And when they wonder why my padawan stinks of you?"

"You forget, brother mine, I smell like Dooku now. If I scent him, he would smell of neither of us."

He hated how clever his brother was.

John should not have been used against him, especially by another Jedi. Mycroft was using the boy purely for revenge about his early deeds, it would not be stood for.

"Move, Mycroft. He has a better chance smelling like me than your former master." Sherlock shoved pass his brother, trying to curb his rage.

That insufferable, low-life, unintelligent, hundark.

John sat in the co-pilot's seat, running his hands over different controls.

Helping.

His master mused silently from the doorway as his padawan was taught the different gears, dials, and switches. The flesh of the boy's lip tucked under his teeth in thought. With his mind occupied the youngster didn't sense his master, until he was being lifted up and sat in a lap. Sherlock dismissed the pilot curtly and turned to the controls.

"Take the wheel," he said lightly.

John looked at him nervously.

"Just like an overgrown speeder," Sherlock assured.

"Yeah, okay," the boy's voice wavered as he obeyed. Sherlock began pointing out different dials and switches. The child was merely happy there were no pedals to humiliate him with their distance. Sherlock held the wheel over John's tiny hands, telling him the slightest move would change the ships direction. John frowned, but kept his hands steady. Sherlock released him.

"Eyes forward, if we hit something Mycroft will lecture me until our oxygen runs out."

His padawan giggled. Sherlock placed a soft kiss on the smooth temple, his child's brow furrowed in concentration. "I'm doing it, Master!"

"Clearly, little one. I am not blind."

Sherlock let himself lean forward and adjust the speed to a higher setting. John grimaced, but felt Sherlock's confidence in him over their bond. The knight was holding him around the waist, carefully scanning the area ahead. He had to make sure John was not flying into any danger zones.

But his padawan did admirably.

Sherlock let the boy pilot for two hours before growing bored. He hefted the child pilot out of the seat and alerted the professional pilot to come back. Objection flowed through the Force as his padawan eyed the controls, Sherlock lay a warning hand on the healthy shoulder.

"John."

With a small scowl the child followed him out reluctantly.

"Jedi, do not brood, youngling," his master corrected sternly.

"I have known a Jedi to sulk before, Master," his padawan said dangerously close to arguing.

Sherlock swept the boy over his shoulder, jolting him roughly until the indignant squawks became giggles. He was half temped to throw the boy in the air, but noted the low ceilings. He was content to hold his child for a moment.

"Master?"

"What is it, little one?"

"I am hungry…"

Of course he was.


	2. Chapter 2

It was a kriffing twenty hours before they landed.

By the end of it Master was nearly crawling up the walls, and John was grateful when at last they touched down. Sherlock nearly threw himself from the ship, earning a scolding from Master Mycroft. John examined the pair skeptically.

They had barely any similarities. Their looks were insanely off, at least Harry and he had the same noses and eyes. Sherlock and Mycroft shared only their eye color, but even their personalities were different. Mycroft had the composure of a Jedi master, Sherlock was…not that.

Sherlock helped John with his pack, while ignoring Mycroft's lecture. A large hand linger in the boy's hair and scratched his scalp affectionately, despite his best efforts the padawan gave a small mew. Mycroft threw his hands in the air before stalking from the ship. The air was several degrees warmer on the outside of stifling shuttle. John took a deep, thankful, breath.

John peered curiously up at his master, but the older Jedi said nothing. Instead he guided John from the ship where two robed figures stood to greet them, only their eyes were visible. All three Jedi bowed low, Mycroft and Sherlock came up first before John was allowed to straighten himself. The two robed figures swept elegant curtsies.

They were women!

John tugged on Sherlock's sleeve until the older man looked down at him. It must have been against the code as well, because Mycroft scowled at him. John bit his lip with annoyance, he simply had a question. "Master, do we have to wear such garments?"

Traditionally they would dawn the clothes of the planet they occupied.

Sherlock shook his head. "No, padawan. These are women of Goria's high council, they are priestesses."

"Oh," the boy wrinkled his nose. The priestesses made a low growling noise that John would later find out translated to "come". He followed closely at his master's side, curbing the instinct to take Sherlock's hand.

Master would never forgive him if he proceeded in front of Mycroft.

They were led down a grand stair case, however only one person could walk down at a time. John was pushed in front of Sherlock, the knight was followed closely by a priestess.

A low growl came from beneath the shawls, Sherlock responded in kind.

"What'd she say?" John asked nervously, skidding to a halt at the end of the stair case. He walked backwards so he could keep his eyes trained on his master.

"She was complimenting me on my strong cub," Sherlock said irritably.

"Oh," the boy replied gleefully. His grip tightened around the leather handles of his pack.

"John, it is dangerous for them to assume-"

"I know, I know. But you corrected her right? So it's okay," John dismissed shortly. He turned his body away from his master, ears flushed pink. There was a moment of obstinate silence. A slight tug on his pack made him turn to a face a kneeling Sherlock.

"You know how I feel about you," the knight kept his voice low, his eyes darting around the compound swiftly. "But bastards cannot have bastards, John. They would kill you on the spot, with no hesitation if they thought you were my cub."

John touched his master's shoulder gently. Sky blue eyes caught ocean grey, John leaned forward to nip his master's ear affectionately. Sherlock growled approvingly, running his chin over the boy's fair hair.

"We should get going, young one."

John was nudged towards a shuttle.

"Yes, Master."

oOo

His brother thought him blind.

It would take far more than blindness to see the attachment in the boy's face and his master's eyes. Sherlock was kneeling in front of the child, a gesture in itself that proclaimed humility. One of the strongest knights in temple humbled himself at the feet of a child. John barely noticed of course. He assumed the knight knelt to see him better.

Sherlock had rarely knelt for anyone.

Including Lestrade.

A gentle hand was rested on the boy's cheek. They were all but beaming at each other, and when Sherlock rose he left his hand in John's hair.

He hadn't seen that look on his brother's face in four years.

He had never seen that look on the child's face before.

John had always been shy, quick to latch on to his senior instructors legs and hide as a youngling. Friends had come easy to him, but the boy seemed at a lost with what to do with them. Mycroft had watched the boy stumble around blindly his first few years at temple. He had been so different from Anthea, perhaps that was why Mycroft felt drawn to the boy.

Despite laying claim on John at the age of four, he was still snatched away by the council.

At first it hadn't been a terrible obstacle, Sherlock wouldn't be able to stand having a child follow him around. John would be too domestic for him and therefore too dull. It was simply a waiting game.

John would fail his evaluations and be taken from Sherlock.

But as the time drew near to fail them, an improbable hindrance was flung in his path.

The two Jedi had bonded.

And John clearly adored his younger brother.

He observed the pair closely as he stepped foot in their loading shuttle. John was ignoring all Jedi protocol and trying desperately to clamber onto Sherlock's shoulders. His brother should have scolded the youngling, but instead held the boy upside down at an arm's length. Feet were flailing unceremonially in front of the priestesses, but the offense went unnoticed by the giggling pair. Righting himself in his master's arms, the child lunged and finally achieved his goal of sitting astride Sherlock's lengthy shoulders. The young knight smiled as he dipped forward and dumped the boy off.

John laughed.

So did the priestesses.

Was nothing sacred anymore?

oOo

Maybe they shouldn't have been playing so hard.

Master Mycroft sat in his seat, arms crossed, eyes livid.

John swallowed the lump stuck in his throat and forced himself to breathe. Sure he had started the tussle, but Master had followed without too much instigation. And the priestess had laughed too, so there was no real reason Mycroft should be mad.

But he was still miffed.

John muttered his apologies with his head bowed low, Master said nothing, of course. The knight stared out the shuttle window far away. John wondered if he really saw anything, or was simply in his mind palace. Sherlock took his knee gently.

"Stop thinking so hard," he muttered gruffly.

"You can't get mad at me for thinking," John scowled.

"You are doing it rather loudly, young one."

Master refused to call him "little one" in front of Mycroft, which had the young padawan bothered. He turned his face away from the knight with a small huff of annoyance. Sherlock glanced at the angry child and rolled his eyes. His long fingers unzipped the pack on John's shoulders and pulled out a cold sandwich. He laid it in the boy's lap with a command to eat.

John obeyed hungrily.

Sherlock knew how irritable his padawan could get when he forgot to eat.

John found himself leaning tiredly against Sherlock's arm for the rest of the journey. Master Mycroft cleared his throat more than once, prompting Sherlock to correct the slouching Jedi. His master shrugged, unbothered by his padawan's disrespect.

"He is young," Sherlock excused. "And he has been up for twenty hours, let him rest."

"A Jedi must be alert all times, your padawan-"

"He's only nine years old, as you so often remind me. He is younger than most, Mycroft. Move him if you wish, but I will let him rest," Sherlock said dismissively. John would have liked to nestle closer, but knew that would send the Gorian master over the edge.

Mycroft rolled his eyes angrily, but did not separate them.

Upon reaching their destination, the priestesses spoke directly to Mycroft.

"Your quarters have been prepared, Master Holmes. Shall we take you there now?"

"Yes, thank you," Mycroft replied easily. The shuttle pulled into a long satiation, halting just before a bumpered stop. The priestesses led the trio of Jedi from the shuttle and through a large crowd, John pressed deep into Sherlock's side.

He was nervous and honestly quite tired.

Sherlock reached down for the boy's shoulders, guiding him in front of his long legs. The boy tilted his eyes upwards towards his master's, Sherlock gave him a small wink. A yawn was the only response John could give.

"We will be able to rest shortly, young one," Sherlock promised.

"Yes, Master," the boy murmured tiredly. He wished Master would lift him, or at least slow his pace. John stumbled swiftly after the two masters, observing that his teacher's home world was covered in thickets as far as the eye could see. A great howl erupted from his right, causing the boy to practically throw himself into his master's leg. The tall knight snickered.

"A wrywolf," Mycroft stated with amusement. "Is that not interesting, Master Rathbone?"

"I was three, Master Holmes," Sherlock replied brusquely. John cast Sherlock a questioning look and was given a glare. John placed his hands on his hips with a small huff of annoyance that caused Sherlock's lips to twitch. The boy was pulled close to the strong side as they drew near their temporary quarters. John nearly whooped with relief as the door was opened revealing a small living space. Sherlock took his shoulder lightly as they swept final bows to the departing priestesses.

"John," Sherlock called to his protégé, "come. We will find your bed."

John padded eagerly behind Sherlock into a side room. Two beds sat against separate walls, one large bed meant for Sherlock and one small one meant for John. Sherlock was frowning in the doorway as John began preparing his bed with his sleeping robe and teddy bear. The knight turned towards Mycroft, who merely raised a cool eyebrow.

"Oh," Sherlock said softly. "I am undercover, not you."

"You're very observant, brother mine. Yes, I am still known as a bastard on this planet."

Sherlock scowled. "Take the bed, I will take the rags."

John tugged at his mentor's sleeve persistently. "Where is Master Mycroft's bed?" the innocent child asked in a hushed voice.

Sherlock grimaced before explaining that children born out of wedlock did not receive beds on his planet. Even as young infants.

"But where do the babies-?"

"With their mothers," Sherlock said gently.

He did not mention that, it was only if the elders deemed the babe worth living. He pulled his child close as the young mind mulled it over. John frowned up at his master, but remained silent, his head slightly shaking. Sherlock nodded shortly, laying a large boot over his padawan's smaller one. John smirked with a raised eyebrow, prompting his master to shove him backwards onto his bed.

"To bed with you, my brat."

Sherlock turned to his brother and handed the older Jedi John's pack. He reached around to gently tug his padawan's braid and turned to find a suitable sleeping place in the other room. Horror dawned over the boy's face as he realized his master would be sleeping away from him.

Since the first time he was injured.

"Master, I-" the boy began to panic.

Master motioned for him to follow him out of the room, away from Mycroft. John staggered behind him silently, head hung low. Sherlock couldn't just leave him at night, his night terrors had yet to cease plaguing him. He wouldn't dare. Sherlock crouched down in front of his child, the boy all but ran into his arms. Soft, secure hands ran through the boy's hair, John hid himself against his teacher's chest.

"Master, can't you stay in the same room? Please?"

"Little one, we have discussed this. You can have either your bear or me at night. It will be good practice for you, Mycroft will be with you all night. You don't need me." Sherlock pressed the child gently to his shoulder.

"But I want you…"

"Little one," Sherlock steeled himself, "I am not your father, nor your mother. I cannot go on coddling you when you have fully healed. You are a Jedi padawan, John."

"Yes, Master," the boy whimpered.

"Mycroft will be with you, worried one," Sherlock soothed. "And I will come if you need me, but only if you need me."

John nestled under Sherlock's chin. "Will you still tuck me in, Master?"

"Yes, little one."

Thank the Force.

oOo

Mycroft observed the child preparing for bed.

John was dressed in Sherlock's old tunic, which pooled around his thin ankles and swished as he brushed his teeth. His younger brother had volunteered to sleep on the pull of rags instead of the soft bed prepared for him. Sherlock fluffed and twisted the spread into a comfortable sleeping area.

John peeped his head from the bathroom door with his shy smile. His eyes flickered to where Sherlock was settling.

"Master, I'm done!" his padawan called.

His brother waited for the child to come to his room, before he followed closely behind him. The boy trotted happily behind his teacher, throwing Mycroft a swift goodnight, the ignorant child did not even grace him with a turn around.

Mycroft meditated peacefully on the floor, knees crossed, head bowed. The closed door was no obstacle for the master as he poured his attention to the child and the teacher.

It wasn't eavesdropping.

Jedi did not eavesdrop.

oOo

He did not tremble.

He was a Jedi padawan, they did no such things.

John was lifted into the air and cradled closely, his eyes squeezed shut against Sherlock's bare shoulder. Sharp teeth grazed the child's earlobe as he was rocked into a state of near sleep. The boy fought against the pleasant sleepiness, earning a frown from his master.

"Little one," Sherlock whispered gently.

The boy maneuvered his head so it was tucked neatly under his master's chin, he was working brilliantly on Sherlock's heart. A teddy bear was pulled across the room, lifted easily with the controlled Force and plopped into the boy's small arms. Sky blue eyes lifted their gaze to Sherlock's. The knight's resolve began to crumble around his clever padawan, he cleared his throat unwillingly.

"It is time for bed, John."

"Stay," his child pleaded a final time.

"Your bear or me, little one," Sherlock said firmly. Gently he lay the boy into his small bed, softly securing blankets around the small figure. He drew his robe over the comforter, delighted that even at night John would smell of him. Small eyes watered up at him as he leaned to kiss the smooth brow, his apprentice sniffled. "John, I am just in the other room," Sherlock informed the boy sharply.

His child's expressions made him feel guilty.

Absurd. He was raising the boy correctly.

The knight kissed the young forehead firmly, as sign of goodnight, and rose steadily to depart. John shoved off the covers swiftly, bounded to the end of the bed, and flung himself wholeheartedly into his master's arms. "Goodnight, Master," he muttered.

Sherlock smiled against his boy's cheek and nodded slightly.

"Good night, little one."


	3. Chapter 3

The boy was whimpering rather loudly.

Small limbs flailed beneath thick blankets made of cotton from the bear-sheep. His brother's robe was bunched up under the child's head, John sniffed at it fiercely.

What was the boy's problem?

"Master," he cried.

Oh. A nightmare.

The Jedi protocol didn't teach masters how to soothe padawan's fears. Perhaps that was why Anthea only ever came to him once. It hadn't gone particularly well. There was an awkward pat, an assurance of safety, and he had sent the twi'lek girl back to sleep.

What more could she have hoped for?

John gave a small cry of terror and nearly rolled from his bed.

Their room door opened a crack, revealing a grey eye scanning the area. It found the thrashing boy after only a second, and the door then opened full, revealing all of Sherlock. The knight crossed the tiled floor and stooped low next to the boy. The whimpering ceased as the boy was woken up by a gentle shake to the shoulder.

"Little one."

"Master?"

"Come here."

"But Master Mycroft-"

There was a small squeaking noise of yielding springs, followed by a relieved sob. Mycroft opened his eyelids just enough to see Sherlock carrying the boy from the room. John's arms were tightly wrapped around the knight's neck, so much so that Mycroft wondered his younger brother could breathe.

"You got hurt," the boy whispered painfully.

"It was the past, John. Let it go."

The boy's sniffles persisted, despite his master's wishes.

"I hate it when he hurts you," the boy muttered as the door closed softly.

"Hurt, John. Past tense," his master corrected sternly.

Mycroft rolled to his side.

Really, his brother should have made the boy sleep in his own bed.

oOo

"Little one."

It was a firm statement, one that promised no other warning would be given.

John inched away farther, his bare feet tip-toeing silently across the packed dirt of the forest floor. Jedi stealth took years to master. Unfortunately John had to learn it in five minutes. His heart pounded so heavily in his chest, it was a wonder Master could not hear it.

_You promised._ The boy projected heated Huttese curse words across his bond.

_Your delusions of grandeur ill befits you, little one. Bring it to me. Now._

_No! There was six, Master! Two for me, two for Mycroft, and-_

_Child!_

Sherlock leapt out in front of his padawan, gathering the squealing boy against his chest, and promptly ate the spiced pastry from his hand. John huffed angrily. "Fat."

"That was my second one, brat!" Sherlock growled, shaking his child roughly.

"Which you said I could have!"

"John, Jedi do not lie," Sherlock scowled mockingly.

"And as soon as I have been knighted I will cease, and not accuse you of pastry theft, Master mine."

Sherlock grinned at his sarcastic wretch, kissed his temple, and released him to the ground. John's small hands splayed over his stomach, the boy turned pouting eyes to Sherlock in attempts to gain more breakfast. The knight rolled his eyes and produced a small bag of berries for the boy's pleasure. They were snatched greedily.

"John," the warning.

"Thank you."

His nine year old politely offered him a handful of his berries. Sherlock accepted them gratefully, his hand finding its resting place on John's head. The boy's brow furrowed.

"How come you do that so much, Master?" he asked curiously.

Sherlock pondered briefly, stealing another berry from its pouch. "One day, little one, you will find this gesture annoys you. Until then I shall take every opportunity to delight you."

John chewed slower. "It won't annoy me, Sherlock."

"You are still young," his master smiled.

John wanted to be lifted. At once. Scooped up and held tightly. Sherlock shouldn't feel like he would ever burden John. He turned his face into Sherlock's leg, imploring for attention in the way only a child could.

Only his child could.

Sherlock bent forward, with every intention to heft the boy up, when Mycroft circled to their location. The master eyed the near cuddling pair wearily, Sherlock felt annoyance well in his chest.

Mycroft was a constant, scowling shadow over his shoulder. Sherlock had a child of his own, he would not be rebuked like one. John bowed politely, taking a step back from Sherlock's warmth. The knight frowned as his brother approached.

"Sherlock-"

"Don't," the younger man heard the stern tone and raised a silencing hand. Not in front of the boy.

Mycroft released a tired sigh. "Our father seems to have found his way to high council and will be present at this first meeting. I shall go alone. I doubt he remembers your face, still less chance of…discovery that way."

Sherlock waved his hand dismissively, silently agreeing with his brother. It would be unwise to attend a meeting with the man who had given Sherlock every one of his traits, save his ears and eyes.

"However, John may attend," Mycroft said smoothly.

Sherlock had never had the desire to punch someone more fiercely in his life. The Force tensed between the two brothers, neither swaying towards one or the other. Sherlock made a low growling noise.

"I am not sending John to those wolves without me," Sherlock snapped. John nodded loyally, already stepping closer to Sherlock. The knight took his child's shoulders and sent his brother a challenging gaze. "I will take him to our next meeting, brother. That is when he can observe your diplomatic skills."

"Very well," his brother amended easily. John visibly sagged with relief.

There was no way he would have been able to deny Mycroft if the master had persisted. The very idea felt wrong, Mycroft was a higher rank. Technically even higher than Sherlock, but the knight would never consent to admitting it. Plus the idea of a whole day with only Mycroft terrified the boy.

He nearly stepped into Sherlock at the thought.

"It is however, John's choice. Is it not, brother mine?"

John froze.

Could he refuse Mycroft?

It would be a great disrespect to not go with the master.

John bowed his head.

"I did have a lesson planned for the boy, Mycroft," Sherlock said, squeezing on the boy's slender shoulders. "A lesson in patience." The knight raised his eyebrows with mock interest.

John felt the snort slide between his lips before he could stop it.

Sherlock glanced down at him angrily.

Mycroft impressed.

"Master, I-"

Sherlock gave the slim shoulders a punishing crush.

"I need him with me, Mycroft."

Master was saving his sore buttocks.

"Do you not want him to learn diplomacy, Master Rathbone?"

"Patience first."

Mycroft nodded his permission.

Thank you, Master Sherlock!

oOo

The blond boy leaned back against his chest.

Two rods listed lazy in the stream, bobbing up and down with the current slowly. The aquatic life avoided the sinking hooks, some would splash close, teasingly nudging the bobbers but never biting. Both Jedi's feet were tickled by the rising tide, John's feet were completely covered at the highest point.

Sherlock hated every second of it.

Except for John.

It was an old lesson, one Lestrade had forced him to perform when he was young. The silver haired knight had sat with him for twenty-three hours before the boy had sat perfectly still.

John squirmed in his lap.

"Master, none of them are biting," the boy grumbled.

"Patience, little one."

"I am patient, Master! But the fish are not biting, and this is supposed to be our supper." John sighed dramatically. "Can't we go?"

The knight tugged at his rod, pulling a sea eel the size of John from the large river. With a swift movement, he removed the giant creatures head from its body. His child pouted as his master's supper flopped lifelessly about. Sherlock kissed his child's cheek lightly.

"You must catch your own supper now, John."

"But-"

Sherlock raised his knees around the boy, causing him to fall farther back against his chest. Long fingers tickled the small sides viscously, John scrunched into a small ball with laughter ringing out loudly. He twisted against his torturer, hiding his face in his master's stomach.

"Stop! Master, please! PLEASE!"

"Sit still, little one!" Sherlock chuckled. "You are making this tedious!"

John flailed helplessly, finding himself pinned on the ground. Sherlock allowed John to roll him, the air whistled from the knight's lungs as John crawled over him. The boy nestled beneath Sherlock's chin happily.

"Rude, Master," he sighed contently.

Sherlock's hands lightly stroked the child's back, circling upward to the blond hair. The strands were growing out of their baby soft stage and becoming firm. It pained Sherlock to watch the boy grow. Luckily John would always be short, even at nine he barely passed his mentor's waist. The children of Stewjon were all small, often until the age of thirteen, before they sprouted into stalky warriors or talented healers. John displayed signs of staying slender despite his planets traits, even Obi Wan was lean for a Stewjon.

Sherlock pressed a firm kiss to the boy's brow.

Why must he insist on growing up?

Couldn't he stay small and adore his teacher forever?

Sherlock rolled over to smother his child underneath him, John refused to squawk. Instead he took two fistfuls for his teacher's tunics and buried his face in them. John allowed his feelings to filter through their bond.

The boy was jubilant.

Sherlock exhaled with contentment.

His child was happy.

"We have deferred from the lesson," Sherlock mumbled.

"Darn, not the lesson," John replied with glee.

"Insolent whelp."

John giggled and crawled out from beneath his master, towards his fallen rod. The rough handle was gripped tightly by small hands and flicked towards the river. It landed with a small pop in the center of the river and drawn to the side with the currents.

The knight pulled his padawan back into his lap.

"Normally I am better at fishing than this," John pondered quietly.

"I am sure you are, little one."

John paused, slowly glancing up at his master, horror dawning over his face. The boy sprang up and rested two firm hands on his teacher's shoulders. He shook the older man for all he was worth, while laughing. "You are stopping my fish from biting! Aren't you? Aren't you, Master?"

"You are to learn patience, John. I cannot teach this if you catch your supper right away."

"Sleemo!" John lunged at his mentor.

Sherlock threw his child into the river with all his might and followed the boy in after.

They scared away many fish that day.

oOo

John had to be carried back to the small dwelling.

At a record eighteen hours of patience testing the child had fallen asleep shortly after catching his fish. One arm was tight around Sherlock's neck, the other dangled limply off to the side. Sherlock held the boy close, praying Mycroft had not yet returned. The elder man would give him a fairly stern lecture about John remaining alert at all times. Even though John was still only a little boy of nine, and the youngest padawans were taken was at ten.

As Sherlock held the boy closely he felt a surge of gratefulness for the extra two years.

John's breath was moist on his neck, the knight shifted him carefully so the small head faced the other way. Nose wrinkling in the cold, John twisted his face back to his master's collar bone. Sherlock smiled down at his brat and nipped his ear lightly.

He dragged the fish into back of the small home, throwing them down into the cooling shed and slamming the door shut. John jumped in his arms. His eyes lifted upward and blinked incomprehensively. Sherlock stroked a soft hand through the blond hair and the eyes closed once more, lolled off to sleep by a peaceful suggestion of the Force. John yawned against his teacher's neck.

"Brother mine."

Sherlock turned to see Mycroft standing a meter away, his hands on his hips accusingly. The knight resisted the urge to sigh, instead resolving to shift John in his arms. The boy lay oblivious to their accuser.

"He has had two twenty hour days in nearly a row, Mycroft," Sherlock kept his voice quiet.

"A Jedi must-"

"Star's sake, he isn't a full grown Jedi. He is barely a full grown youngling," the whisper was heated.

"You are not teaching him proper-"

"This isn't a lesson, Mycroft! He is a child, and children need rest! But I wouldn't expect you to know that after barely raising your own."

John's brow furrowed at the noise of his elders. He squirmed in the knight's arms, but Sherlock's tone immediately switched to soothing.

"Would like to lay in your bed until supper, John?" Sherlock asked softly.

"Yeah," the boy responded with a breathy whisper and was released to the ground. Staggering forward with sleep riddled limbs, the child pulled open the door to the house and found his room.

Sherlock's eyes followed the boy until he was gone, he returned his gaze to his brother. "Apologies. My last comment was far pass the line," Sherlock muttered darkly. "Mycroft?"

He should not have mocked a child's death.

Even he was above that.

Sherlock bowed low, hoping it would suffice as an apology. He turned on his heel to prepare for their supper, leaving his brother defeated behind him.

Victory tasted an awful lot like ash.


	4. Chapter 4

They made him kneel.

The elders got to sit around a long polished table adorned with some poor smelling garland, but John had to kneel off to Sherlock's side and listen closely. There were other children, children of the high councilmen who knelt dutifully at their father's sides, but John felt anxious. He didn't want to be treated like a dutiful son. He was a padawan, and padawans should get to sit with their masters.

Sherlock guided his head to rest softly against his thigh, an apology filtered through their bond. John leaned into his master gratefully.

_This is stupid._

_Little one. We worked on this very exercise yesterday._

_At least you didn't make me-_

_Patience. Breathe. You are being rather spoiled._

_Sorry, Master._

Sherlock's spidery fingers scratched at the base of his neck, John sighed and found his tolerance. The elders were discussing the probability of leaving the Republic heatedly with Master Mycroft.

Who had been avoiding Sherlock since yesterday.

What had Master done?

The knight growled in response to something said, leaving John to wish he could understand the language. Sometimes they would growl syllables, other times they would speak with words. John could only understand their heated tone.

"Lic cog tune tune, busta!" one of them shouted angrily.

Mycroft shook his head, calmingly replying with soft growling noises. Sherlock on the other hand turned to an elder across from him and muttered. "Jocasta ick, hun do toda. Nun ta yacule."

The elder paled.

"Oh well done, Sigerson," Mycroft hissed.

Sherlock shrugged with a small smirk.

_Master?_

John very much wanted to know what was going on.

_The elder accusing us of lying has fathered a child on this elder's wife. Idiot should have changed his hair cut. _

John beamed and received a stern glance from Mycroft, he dipped his head close to Sherlock's thigh in embarrassment. He rested his cheek on the solid muscle boredly. A sharp pain the back of his skull warned him to sit up straighter.

Sherlock had flicked him.

_I hate this!_

_Little one, do you know how many times I had to kneel by Lestrade's side while he discussed politics with Naboo's queen. If I can hold out, you must certainly can too._

_I am trying, Master_.

Sherlock made a sharp growling sound at Master Mycroft, who had mumbled something in a low voice. The councilmen grew silent. A dark growling emitted from the head diplomat, his eyes blazed with fury. Somehow John understood that most men would cower beneath that tone. Half the room and the young padawan did just that.

But not his masters.

Both Jedi rose gracefully from their seats at the same instant. John scrambled to his feet clumsily, like a new born bantha. An unimpressed look was cast upon him by the elder Jedi, but Sherlock merely snorted.

At least Master was never ashamed of him.

Mycroft made a final statement, composed of gibberish John did not remotely understand, and bowed in synch with Sherlock. The elder councilmen responded less than kindly, but whatever had been said made Sherlock smirk and Mycroft relax. They departed after four hours of arguing.

"Effective threat, brother mine," Sherlock sounded fairly impressed.

"Yes well, when out matched, cheat."

"What'd he say?" John begged, not wanting to be left out. Sherlock's lips twitched upward, Mycroft actually chuckled.

"I theoretically threatened the planet's woman on them," Mycroft said pleasantly.

John's brow furrowed. "Like their mothers?" he asked curiously.

"And wives, and sisters, and daughters," Sherlock said gleefully.

"Oh. You mean the priestesses?" John said cautiously.

"Slow observation, John," his master scolded.

"Slow, not dull," the boy pointed out. His teacher grinned.

John squirmed. The priestesses had been kind, surely they weren't as fierce as Mycroft was making them out to be. Sherlock pulled the boy against his side, clearly looking for a swift tussle. It was like being raise by a child sometimes.

John was wedged between his master's forearm and side, whilst being noogied aggressively. John bit down on Sherlock's arm, lunging at the knight's knees. They rolled together painfully, tangling their limbs, and falling at Mycroft's feet. Sherlock ignored the older master and smothered his padawan beneath him, demanding mercy be begged for.

Twice.

John wheezed under the pressure of his master's body. "Get off! You weigh more than a rancor! Master!"

"Children," Mycroft scowled.

Sherlock twisted the boy's arm in a particularly rude way, causing him to yelp. The padawan was released, only to fly at his master a moment later. Sherlock forgot himself and swept the child up into strong arms, John giggled as Sherlock sat him astride his shoulders. Mycroft continued walking without bothering to look back at the two toddlers.

John leaned against his master's head. "We keep making him mad," the boy said sadly.

"It is no great leap," Sherlock growled.

"I guess," John said dejectedly. He did like Master Mycroft, but Sherlock was his master. It was like comparing an uncle to a father, John would always go to Sherlock first. The boy was pulled from the shoulders of his tall master and settled into arms. The knight sniffed at his padawan's neck.

John placed his forehead against Sherlock's.

"Why's Mycroft so mad at you?"

Sherlock began nuzzling his child's hair, his scent was mixing with the small child's. John giggled as the other man's nose went behind his ear, he squirmed closer to Sherlock. "You smell of Mycroft," his teacher growled.

"You changed the subject, Master," John accused softly.

"I-it has been apologized for."

John wasn't stupid, Sherlock didn't want to talk about it. Which was fine of course, Master never had to tell John anything he didn't want to. Instead of persisting John leaned into Sherlock's chest, allowing himself to relax.

"How come the priestesses weren't at the meeting?" John yawned as he spoke.

"The council is dominated by men, little one. The priestesses are the women half of government on this planet. They will be more difficult to persuade seeing as they don't allow men in there temple." Sherlock began carrying John towards a small market. The boy at once located the pastries and began begging fiercely.

Gorian sweets were even better than Twi'lek desserts, perhaps even better than Rodian desserts. John squirmed to be put down and rushed over to a vendor. A wafting plate of pastries with some form of chocolate sauce was placed under the boy nose. Inhaling deeply, he turned to Sherlock with pleading eyes.

"Master, can I have one? Just one? I was really good through that whole meeting," John argued.

"Padawan, a Jedi is always well behaved without the promise of reward," Sherlock rebuked.

"But I was really good," the boy grumbled.

Sherlock ran a soft hand through the boy's hair in thought. After a moment he passed the boy five Republic credits and watched the smile spread over the boy's face. John very much wanted to hug his master, but the older Jedi was turn to a fruit stand and inspecting a dark purpled fruit. It was round and firm, perfectly ripe, with a small blue stem peaking off its crown. Sherlock smirked. "Mycroft's favorite."

The knight bought himself a bright red fruit, frowning as the young woman nearly tripped over herself making the sale. He plucked the fruit from its perch and turned to see John frozen in place. An eyebrow was quirked in question.

"Can-can we get Mycroft something too, Master? He would have come if we hadn't angered him," John's face was drawn into a serious look. His lips were pressed into a thin line.

"Little one, I gave you the last of my credits for the day," Sherlock said curiously.

John blinked down at the money in his hand, suddenly distressed. It wouldn't be fair if they all got treats, but Mycroft. His pastry would cost four credits, Mycroft's fruit would cost three. Sweat began to form over the boy's hand, he sighed.

Slowly he walked over to the fruit vender and handed her three credits before taking up Mycroft's fruit. He found a small pastry that only cost one credit that looked acceptable. Sherlock had an odd expression on his face as the child returned to his side slowly.

"What?"

"I-you…." Sherlock's voice trailed off. "You didn't have to purchase that, little one."

"I know," John said timidly. "But he wasn't in a good mood, and he's never happy, and maybe this will make him happy, and I just feel bad sometimes, cause sometimes it is our fault he's mad, Master. Plus everyone deserves treats, and I still got one so it really is-"

"John," Sherlock said. John blinked at the tone. His master almost sounded in awe. "That is very…you are a good boy."

John beamed. "Yeah, I know."

"Brat."

oOo

His brother and the boy returned an hour later.

His mediation was interrupted by a small hand gently touching his shoulder. With a small sigh he opened his eyes, John stood directly in front him. His gaze was averted downward with sudden shyness as he presented the master with a large purple fruit.

"Master says it's your favorite," the boy said unsurely, as if he had been given faulty information. "We stopped at a market to get treats, and I wanted to make sure you got one too." John dropped the dark fruit into Mycroft's open palm.

The master gaped down at it.

It was his favorite treat as a child, but after being taken on by Dooku treats had become a rarity. Mycroft fingered the firm flesh, before finding his voice. He thanked the child softly and watched him turn to go. Mycroft stopped him.

"You didn't have to, young one."

John shrugged. "You don't do good things 'cause you have to, Master."

He scampered away to find Sherlock.

Mycroft pulled the fruit to his lips and bit down. The flesh squished beneath his teeth, sending juices down his chin.

Divine.

Had the child been correct? Sherlock had told him the fruit was his favorite?

That was…kind.

oOo

"Master?"

John had found him sitting along the banks of a river observing the natives. A small female child was suckling happily at her mother's neck, absorbing her scent. The mother growled approvingly as her cub fell asleep in her arms.

John was pulling himself up next to his master perch. Sherlock heaved the boy up by the scruff off his neck, John giggled as he was sat next to the knight. John leaned into his side. "How come they do that?" John noted the children suckling their parent's necks.

"Their scents," Sherlock explained slowly. "A parent's scent is soothing, on this planet it is used to sleep."

And when he was young it was allowed by Lestrade.

"Oh," John yawned.

"How was Mycroft?"

"Okay. He didn't say much," John muttered. Sherlock draped his arm around the child's slender shoulders, showing a rare sign of affection in public. John nestled closer, it a treasured time when Sherlock was in this mood. The knight placed his forehead against John's cheek.

"Must I apologize to Mycroft?" Sherlock felt inspired by John's earlier actions. The boy was the pure that was often taught in temple. He was Sherlock's anchor to the light, though the reminder of obligation was often tedious. John gazed up him with an odd half smile.

"Master, you are the smartest, cleverest knight in temple. You don't have ta ask me, and you know it."

"I did apologize though," Sherlock said against the smooth cheek.

"Did Master Mycroft understand the apology?" John asked cheekily.

"Unlikely."

John cuddled him, pressing himself deep into Sherlock's side. The child was pulled into his lap. "Perhaps I shall try again," he whispered.

"It is the right thing to do, Master mine," he was assured.

Sherlock hefted the boy up in his arms and pointed them homeward. Exhaustion was sweeping through him, all he truly wanted was rest. Perhaps Mycroft would allow him the bed if the apology was sincere enough. He had not slept well since they had gotten on that cursed planet. As a child he had not only taken Lestrade's scent, but would also tell people he too was of Naboo. Goria was not a cheerful place for him.

Perhaps when this was over he would raise John on Naboo.

He would enjoy the vast seas.

And his master would enjoy the solitude.


	5. Chapter 5

John traced patterns over his master's boot.

It was a bored flick of his finger that brought different, polished art to life against the stiff leather. Only a few times was he glanced down on in an annoyed fashion, but was otherwise ignored. Master let him get away with murder when he was being forced to kneel. He exhaled heavily over the boot, erasing his old drawing and preparing for a new one.

A harsh growling sound from above sent Sherlock into a snarl. John's blond head shot up as the knight hissed low in fury, Mycroft rested a hand on his arm tightly. It was shrugged off heatedly with another furry of snaps directed at the master. The Jedi lifted a highly unimpressed eyebrow, as usual he was scolding Sherlock without the use of words. John touched his master's knee loyally. Sherlock glanced down at the child who had knelt at his feet without a justified temper tantrum or protest. He shoved back from the table angrily. Master looked so, so miffed.

"Come along, John," Sherlock said shortly.

"Yes, Master," John rose swiftly.

Master didn't bow out on the way to the exit so neither did he. Kriff everyone who was giving them dirty looks. John followed Sherlock closely on his heels, daring anyone through the Force to insult his teacher.

They stopped outside the grand entrance, or rather Sherlock stopped him with a soft hand to his shoulder. "You are tired," the elder accused.

"No," his padawan denied at once. "I'm alright."

"Little one, you have been attending twelve hour meetings for three days now." Sherlock began guiding him once more towards the outer city. John allowed himself to be guided at a quickened pass towards their transport homeward. "You will be going to bed at once."

"Master! You promised to show me more saber stuff," his padawan whined bitterly.

"Enough, spoiled one," Sherlock said while running a soft hand over the child's ear. John mewed and leaned closer to his master's clever hand.

"What did the elder say that miffed you, Master?" John asked curiously.

Sherlock knelt in front of John slowly, his hand still clasped around the boy's shoulder. The thumb massaged over the tight muscle over John's collarbone, the knight's eyes were uncertain as he looked into his padawan's eyes. "Little one, you understand on this planet they treat base-born children as expandable rubbish?"

John nodded humbly.

"They seem to think, as everyone on this Force forsaken planet does, that you are my bastard cub. They wanted to know if you were for sale, little one. They knew it would irritate me to hear them offer their compliance for a new 'alter slave"."

John blushed, glaring down at his boots. "Oh."

"Yes. I imagine Mycroft will be lecturing me on this for days." Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose exhaustedly. "And it doesn't help that your fatigue has been seeping through our bond all evening."

The apologies began flowing at once, but Sherlock stilled him with a sharp ear nip. John leaned into his teacher's shoulder gratefully, curling his hands into the older man's tunics. Sherlock tugged at the young boy's braid affectionately.

"And you wonder why they exploit your weakness as means to wane your argument," Mycroft sneered behind them.

John closed his eyes against Sherlock's neck. His heart beat so fiercely it threatened to burst from his chest.

Weakness?

"He isn't a weakness, Mycroft," Sherlock sighed. "And you've upset him."

John felt tears start down his cheeks as his master spoke. For the last three days he had less than twenty hours of sleep and had watched his master argue for a losing Republic against diplomats who were more than ready to embrace the Separatists. All he wanted was warm milk and honey and maybe a cuddle from Sherlock before bed. He knew sometimes he made Sherlock feel obligated to protect him, therefore putting him in danger. But he never thought he was a weakness.

"Ignore him, Padawan Watson," Sherlock said into his ear.

"Yes, Master Holmes," John whispered back.

"We are leaving, Mycroft. You can stay and finish with these idiots if you'd like. I find myself growing weary of their antics, and my padawan requires rest." Sherlock rose to full height, leaving his hand curled in the boy's hair.

"Walking away from a diplomatic meeting is childish, Master Rathbone," Mycroft said snidely.

"I'm dealing with children," Sherlock quoted his former master. John gave him a pleading look. With a heavy sigh he managed to maneuver his padawan outside without further interference from his older brother. John felt ready to drop from exhaustion and misery, his master did not soothe him.

"Idiot. Yes, Master Mycroft. Everything is my fault, please forgive me for standing up for my own child. It shan't happen again, I swear. The absolute nerve," Sherlock raved as they walked the dirt road to their transport. John played silently with his fingers as Sherlock continued to hiss to himself, about how insufferable Mycroft was being. The boy Jedi was left alone to ponder the insult Mycroft had thrown, without meaning to, his way.

John found his pace slowing behind Sherlock, until he was staring through bleary eyes at his master's back. His steps halted in place, his boots began sinking deep into the mud before Sherlock noticed his absences from his side. The knight turned with the familiar scowl on his face. "Little one?"

"Master…what did Mycroft mean when he said I was a weakness?" John asked quietly. "Do…do I make you weak?"

"I told both of you, you are no weakness, John," Sherlock said with an annoyed tone. "I grow tired of repeating myself."

"I-I…I've heard it before though, Sherlock," John said painfully. "I make you weak cause you care 'bout me."

"Don't be ri-"

"Jedi aren't supposed to be attached, Master. But I made you attached…" John let the tears fall. It took less than a second for Sherlock to sweep him up into his arms and press the young face against his shoulder.

"Yes, John. I care for you, more than I should. But it does not make me weak, even remotely."

John buried his face into Sherlock's neck. "My shoulder hurts."

It was his code to tell Sherlock he was tired, his master nodded carefully. "You won't be attending tomorrow's meeting, little one. I want you to rest for the day, you are too young to have such little sleep."

"Okay, Master," John submitted quietly.

Sherlock carried a near slumbering John to the public transport. It wasn't natural for the knight to continue to allow John to fall asleep against him as the approached the common public. Sherlock passed over their passes silently to a conductor and was told where to go. John's head was covered protectively as the ducked into the transport. An empty compartment was located, and the boy was placed carefully on one of the long seats.

"'m sleepy," John muttered.

"I know, little one," Sherlock said softly, covering the boy with his robe. "Rest a moment, I'm going to find you something to eat."

"You eat too," John snapped as the door closed behind his mentor.

Idiot.

oOo

Sherlock came back ten minutes later with a sandwich, some crisps, and a nectar pouch for John. He had even found an assortment of raw meat which looked promising to experiment on. Those remained hidden in his pack as kicked the control panel for his compartment door. The stewardess cast him a dirty look, but he rolled his eyes.

Honestly, his hands were full.

John was sitting up ramrod straight next to a very regal looking Mycroft, who eyed his food selections with a look of distain. Ignoring his brother, he motioned for his padawan to come and take his lunch, but the boy shook his head carefully. The knight frowned as John, tired and miserable, continued looking at him with a pained expression. It was far too much.

"John, take your lunch," Sherlock instructed firmly. "You have not eaten since tea. Come now." He waited for his demands to be obeyed, but his child merely slumped.

"John is learning to fast, brother mine. And he is learning to be alert despite his fatigue," Mycroft said from John's side. The boy flinched, clearly unsure of whose side to take. Sherlock settled it for him.

"Padawan," he said gently, holding out the sandwich with a stern gaze. "I am your master, you will do as I say. Especially when it comes to your health."

Gingerly the sandwich was accepted, but not unwrapped. John set it in his lap and proceeded to glare at it hungrily.

What had Mycroft said to the child?

"Give us a moment, John," Sherlock sighed at last. "There is an empty compartment at the end of the hall, wait for me to collect you."

_Take your food, little one. I expect it eaten when I arrive._

_But, Master-_

_Go._

"Yes, sir," John said dejectedly as he gathered up his food and passed Sherlock back his robe.

"What in blazes have you done?" Sherlock roared the minute John was out of ear shot. "He was perfectly content-"

"Of course he was, he was being spoiled after all," Mycroft said calmly.

"Spoiled? Spoiled? He had been forced to kneel on a hard floor for hours, Mycroft! Even at John's age that is murderous to his knees. He hasn't eaten all evening, and he has only had limited sleep. He cannot keep this up much longer!"

"Because you have not taught him how," again the calm tone that caused rage to blind the knight.

"I will not teach a growing boy to fast when his body is still developing. He is already short for his age, let's not add overly thin to his list!" Sherlock shouted. "He is only a little boy, Mycroft!"

"He is a young Jedi and needs to be trained as such. The boy has promise, Sherlock. If you are not equipped to handle it, I will take the boy off your hands."

Sherlock flushed with rage. Always this. Always Mycroft wanting what didn't belong to him. He all but spit his next words. "At the end of the day, at the end of day when he has been starved, and ill-slept, and he becomes sick from over using himself, he is not a Jedi. You see him when he is composed and practiced, Mycroft. You do not see him when he is so exhausted he cannot tell his right from his left. He is only nine, perhaps it was acceptable for your padawan, being thirteen, to learn such things, but mine is only a child. And at the end of the day that is what he is. A little boy who is hungry and sore and can't figure out why his elder has forbidden him to eat or sleep."

"Do you speak of your padawan or yourself, my brother?" Mycroft said snidely.

It was too much. "Why don't you enlighten me, Mycroft? Seeing as how you and my dominus share a similar teaching style."

Mycroft paled. "He isn't your-"

"Legally he is. Do not try to make yourself John's," Sherlock said coldly slamming the door triumphantly in the elder Holmes's face. He stalked down the hallway in search of his padawan's chambers. They were located at the very end of the hall. Slow breaths were taken before entering, his padawan still sitting up straight, his meal untouched. Sherlock sighed.

"Eat."

"Mycroft says-"

"Kriff Mycroft. Eat your lunch, and I will order my own," Sherlock promised shortly. His child's face brightened.

"A big lunch, Master. You gotta eat a big lunch."

"I will match what you eat, my little one."

John agreed happily and delved into his sandwich furiously. Sherlock watched the boy avoid the crusts and thoroughly enjoyed the meat and cheese that packed the soft bread. A smile threatened to creep out of him. He hoisted John into the air and settled beneath him, the boy resting tiredly against his chest.

"Are we not going back then?" John asked softly.

"No. Let the prat stew for another few hours. I care little for how he has been treating you," Sherlock said still angry. John nuzzled him gently, prodding him in the ribs with a small finger.

"Jedi don't sulk, my master."

"Eat your lunch, brat."

oOo

He came to his senses after staring at the compartment door for an hour.

_Dominus. My dominus._

_He isn't your-_

_Legally he is._

That wasn't how a free man should have spoken. Sherlock should have denied Moriarty at once, he had a Jedi master, he had grown up free. Aside from the mishap when he was eighteen, but still he should not have recognized Moriarty as his master. Was this a warning from the Force? Did Sherlock still look to Moriarty as his rightful master?

Sherlock had grown up adoring Lestrade, it had always been clear. Then again Sith had been known to be crafty, perhaps…

It was ridiculous. If nothing else the knight adored John, and the boy had received lashings only months ago. There was no plausible Sherlock would allow that to happen Sith or no. Unless it was a punishment from Moriarty for being disobedient?

_My dominus._

Blast it.

He strode down the hall in search of his younger companions. There at the end of the hall John's Force signature flickered lightly. Deeply asleep despite Mycroft's wishes. He scowled and opened the door swiftly.

John was sprawled over Sherlock's chest in a mess of limbs and hidden beneath a cloak. His head was tucked neatly under Sherlock's chin, his small hand rested over the older Jedi's heart. Sherlock had clearly not intended to fall asleep with his padawan. Reed pipes were still tightly clenched in the hand that did not cover John's back protectively. His little brother's mouth was opened slightly, releasing small puffs of air that blew the blond hair forward and back.

Sherlock looked years younger.

But he didn't look nearly as peaceful as most people did when the dreamt.

His brow was scrunched together in agony, his nose wrinkled in distain. His mouth began to press into a thin line. Mycroft knew the signs well, night terrors. In a matter of seconds Sherlock would no doubt be thrashing out, perhaps injuring John.

A small yawn broke his concentration. John stirred against Sherlock and sat up slightly. A glance down at his master shared what Mycroft had already come to know. John rubbed his eyes sleepily, not even moving away from the impending danger.

"It's okay, Master," John began to soothe as if he had done it a million times for his teacher. "S'okay. I know you're scare, but don't be, cause Moriarty isn't gonna hurt you in real life. It's just a bad dream, you're gonna be okay."

To his great surprised Sherlock whimpered in response.

"Shh, Master. We're fine. You're a good man, Sherlock. A good master too, but you'd be even better if you'd let me have more desserts," John yawned once more and snuggled back down into Sherlock's chest. "I'm not scared of Moriarty and neither should you be. You're stronger than him, Master. And cleverer. He can't hurt you, and you won't let him hurt me. We're okay."

Sherlock's face became completely relaxed at his padawan's words. The worry lines vanished from his forehead, and the deeply asleep look that often crossed children's face replaced his normal emotionless mask. John kissed his cheek lightly, all without noticing Mycroft, and dozed back to sleep.

Clearly he had walked in on something he was never meant to see.


	6. Chapter 6

John was at his side, begging for treats.

Both of them had decided to take a vacation from the tireless meetings of the Gorian council. Mycroft had all but declared them over anyways, they would need to go to the priestesses and beg them for assistance. The dignity of the Jedi lost to a group of old hundarks who had not better use of their time other than being annoying. John almost sobbed as they passed by a bakery.

"Master!"

"Padawan!" Sherlock cried back in the same longing, whining tone. John crossed his arms angrily and pushed out his lower lip. Sherlock continued on despite the approaching temper tantrum. His child sulked behind him.

"Not fair," he grunted.

"Bored," Sherlock replied back. Deliberately he stalked past several stands selling honey cakes and an assortment of pies and instead purchased several pieces of fresh fruit. When John was handed his half, the boy all but snarled. John begrudgingly bit into the round shaped, orange fruit with a small sigh of inconvenience. His master chuckled. "Come now, little one. That is a delicacy on this planet."

John's nose wrinkled. "All due respect, Master, if it's not in a pie or covered in chocolate, it is no delicacy."

"Impudent child."

John shrugged and took another bite of his fruit. He circled his master's long legs, seeking the attention of the adult he most adored. Sherlock gazed the other way, only to spite the dancing boy. John huffed loudly. He snatched at Sherlock's tunics until the older man was forced to bat him away playfully. John giggled.

"Master, can I ask you something?" John's voice grew childish and uncertain. Sherlock stooped down to examine fresh collections of teas as John continued. "How come tea is so important to you? I mean, I like it and all but…it seems a little dull for your tastes."

Ah.

"It was time spent with your grandfather and now it is time spent with you. There is nothing tedious to that on most occasions," Sherlock mused swiftly. Sentiment. Blast Lestrade for teaching him that tea time should be cherished. Though John was partially correct, at first tea time had been incredibly boring.

"Oh," John said happily. "Yeah. I guess being with you isn't that bad."

Sherlock gave his padawan's ear a sharp tug, but felt the familiar grin slid over his face. John had a stupid way of pulling it from him against his will. John blinked up at him innocently, inclining his head thoughtfully to the side. Sherlock shoved him lightly. "Away with you. Find something to entertain yourself."

"Where are you going, Master?"

"Errands, little one," Sherlock said slyly.

"Can't I come with you?"

Clingy. Sherlock scowled until the boy looked downward sadly. It was obvious John merely wanted to spend time with his elder. Sherlock stooped swiftly to nip at his padawan's ear gingerly. "I will meet with you in an hour or so, John. You needn't be so dependent."

"You promised we'd do stuff today," John said dejectedly. "All I've gotten to see of you is your boots, I miss you…" his voice trailed away. "And Mycroft hasn't been helping."

"Little one," Sherlock said amused, "go entertain yourself elsewhere. I will find you soon."

"Yes, Master," John said before trudging off to find something to do.

Sherlock flicked on his comm the moment his child was out of ear shot. "How difficult?"

"They will not allow me to enter," Mycroft's voice was annoyed. "Adult males are not permitted past their sacred gates."

"Idiotic. How can gates be sacred?" Sherlock snapped.

"The boy-"

"Will not being doing your failed negotiations."

"Sherlock-"

"The answer is no, brother."

"There is a wrywolf guarding the gate. Red fur," Mycroft said softly. Sherlock's heart stilled.

"I'm coming."

oOo

John found a group of children around his own age to play with.

They welcomed him warmly, assuming he was Gorian because Sherlock scented him so much. A ball was bounced between the four participants, John found it tediously dull. Though he had never played catch before in his life, there seemed to be no point to the game. John began checking his comm link for messages from Sherlock. The alert bulb did not blink as he had hoped it would. The boy sighed.

"Oi! Babies!"

The group of children looked up indignantly at two impending teenagers. John huffed angrily at the thought of being called a baby, until he noted what squirming was in the older boys' hands.

Puppies.

Six legged wrywolf puppies.

John squealed along with all the other children and darted forward to collect a silver furred puppy to his chest. It licked his face happily, causing the child to giggle and hug it closer. Jedi weren't allowed to have pets, and Master would more than likely be cross at him for snuggling with the furry pup, but it was still too tempting to resist. He kissed the silver forehead.

"Where'd you find them, Nicolai?" one the children piped up eagerly.

"In a nest by the edge of the forest," a teen replied easily. His hands hid something behind his back. Something that was whimpering in pain.

"What is that?" John asked horrified.

"Nothing you need concern yourself with, poodoo brains."

John stepped forward and handed his pup off to one of his new companions. The parcel cried louder as if sensing someone were trying to come to its aid. John rested a hand on his saber hilt as his master sometimes did to encourage obedience. The older boys paled considerable. The crying bundle was swung around to face John. A red furred puppy with a bleeding mid-paw and frightened expression.

The young Jedi shot forward, collecting the injured puppy to himself. The little being cried loudly for its mother, John cradled him carefully. "You hurt him? Why'd you hurt him?"

"Red fur. He's a freak of nature. No better than a bastard," the eldest teen explained. "He's got to prove he's worth living."

"You broke his leg! You were cruel!" John shouted heatedly.

The teen opened his mouth as if to reply, when the horrid sound of an angry mother snarled over John's shoulder. A ten foot grown, silver furred wrywolf bared her teeth as John turned slowly. The young puppies howled excitedly to see their mother and began wiggling viscously to be put down.

John maintained his hold on the wounded pup.

And screamed for Sherlock across their bond.

oOo

His child was actually trying to bargain with a near rabid wolf when he arrived.

John was holding a whimpering bundle of red fur, while several other children cowered behind the young Jedi. John stamped his foot angrily.

"He's hurt! Listen! He needs help, I can't just give him to you!" John shouted. He turned at once he sensed Sherlock's signature, his eyes were watering with annoyance. "She won't listen to me. The pup will die without medical attention."

Sherlock knew better than to try to get at his child with the mother snarling for her cub back. Gently he pushed at her mind, his objective to still the agitated mother. John began unwrapping the cub and showed him the two injured mid-legs. Sherlock cringed.

"Give the cub to its mother, little one," Sherlock said softly.

"He won't survive, Master!" John called as though Sherlock would not understand that.

"John, why do you think there is more than one babe born in a litter?" Sherlock was trying to be logical with his padawan. "Animals die, it is why so many are birthed at one time. Give the cub to the mother."

John was horrified.

Blast it. Logic often horrified the young boy, it was due to the overactive innocence that flowed through the developing mind. Sherlock took a step towards his padawan. The female wolf snarled.

"Little one."

"Noo!" John wailed. "We can't leave him! Jedi protect the innocent!"

"I am protecting the children behind you, John!" Sherlock snapped. "Give the cub to its mother."

"Just get her to wait," John begged.

"Damn it," Sherlock swore under his breath. Reluctantly he let out a low whistle, catching the attention of the snarling beast. The other children took the opportunity to flee. With a small hand gesture, he motioned John toward him. John took several careful steps near his master, the cub had stopped whimpering as the boy spoke quietly to him. Soothing words were spoken into the velvet ear of the red furred cub. Sherlock held his arms out for the small wolf, John passed it over gently and muttered soft thanks.

"Now go to the mother," Sherlock said shortly.

His padawan looked up at him in a panic.

"I have her cub, she needs mine to trust me."

"But I-"

"Little one, it was you who begged me to save this pathetic life form. If it is truly what you want, you must do your part," Sherlock said gruffly. It was hardly a time for sympathy, if John wanted to learn the art of protecting the innocent, he had to do it alone. With a brave sigh, John trudged forward. Only a slight tremor in his hand revealed his fright.

"John," Sherlock stopped his padawan. "Use your senses. If you feel at all in danger…"

"I know, Master."

John went slowly, unthreateningly to the wolf. His hands held out carefully, so the she-wolf could watch him carefully. When he was near enough for her to reach out with her jaw and take hold of the back of his neck, he froze. "M-master?"

"Don't move, little one," Sherlock warned swiftly. "It's her way of compensating for me holding her cub."

"O-okay," John shook.

Honestly, why couldn't John just have given up the small cub? Sherlock glanced down at the red furred cub and thought to his own red wolf. Wrywolves, though scarce as pets, were notorious for being overly loyal to their families, normally one specific member. In his case his family's wrywolf cub had been overly attached to him at age three. And being only a toddler at the time, he too had adored the cub. His father had not been impressed, despite the rare connection with a wrywolf.

Red fur was supposed to be a rarity, and yet he had seen two in his life time with the same coloring. The knight held the cub high above his head, examining the two legs. Both appeared to be broken, one was bleeding profoundly. The poor thing cried loudly as his legs were touched. The she-wolf's jaw tightened over John's shoulder.

"Master," his own child whimpered.

"Sit quietly, John," Sherlock commanded firmly.

The cub would need to have his mid-legs amputated. Sherlock pressed the small mind into sleep and was instantly obeyed. With a small hand gesture, John's mini saber flew from his pocket. Sherlock released a steadying breath, relaxing the cub further. It was then that the knight swiftly removed the two mid-legs, the saber cauterizing the wound. John yelped as the mew of large wolf began closing around his neck.

Slowly Sherlock knelt to the ground, reawakened the cub, and released him to his mother. It was unsteady on four legs and would need time to get used to them, but after a few wobbly steps it sprinted towards its mother. John was released as soon as the cub was hidden safely behind his mum. She barked a warning at him.

"You fixed him," John breathed in relief.

"Come here," Sherlock said shortly. His padawan ran to him with all his might, slamming into the solid stomach muscle with a satisfied "oof". John nuzzled into the warm tunics with the feeling of gratitude shining brightly through their bond. Sherlock kissed his temple lightly. "Idiot boy."

"I had to help," John said quietly.

"I know you did," Sherlock responded in kind.

Something behind the pair snapped. A huff of warm breath moistened the back of the knight's neck, causing gooseflesh to rise above the surface of his skin. Sherlock froze as a second wrywolf bit at his shoulder gently, almost playfully. A damp nose sniffed eagerly behind his ear, accidently nudging him forward slightly. The young man stumbled forward.

A dark red wrywolf barked happily. Its tail wagged in excitement as it tried desperately to get the human to play. As they had done years ago. Sherlock gaped.

And though he would never admit it, his throat closed with some emotion.

"Redbeard."


	7. Chapter 7

It turned out Sherlock had had a wrywolf of his own when he was little.

John was rolling on the ground, buried under the hoard of six puppies that turned out to be Redbeard's own broad. Two of the puppies sat proudly on his shoulders, keeping him held down as the mother watched from above. At least she seemed more relaxed around them after Redbeard had revealed Sherlock as his human. The red furred puppy was licking his face happily and pulled at his ear with sharp little teeth.

Sherlock was slammed to the ground repeatedly as his wrywolf pounced on him aggressively. They snarled at each other fiercely, each one trying to establish who was alpha. The knight immobilized the wolf down by his throat and bit at the velvety ear. Redbeard howled with joy and flipped the knight on his back, watching the young man struggle.

Apparently the wrywolf had run towards its mate upon hearing the whimpers of his pups, but had recognized Sherlock as his boy. The smell that Sherlock had worn as a toddler was long gone, however the man's aura was unmistakable. Especially to a childhood friend. John watched his master practically get mauled by the huge wolf for fun, the wolf had the knight pinned on his back.

And the knight had never looked happier.

John picked his red furred companion up by the under arms and held him around the stomach. He ran to his master and knelt down at his side. The pup was gathered under his chin and licking him joyfully. John looked down on Sherlock, who was beaming in such a way that John had never seen. Sherlock reached up to gently scratch behind the boy's ear, pacifying his overactive mind into relaxation. Sherlock gave a small smirk.

"You coo when you're happy," the knight observed.

John blushed and pulled his new friend closer. Maybe he did make some noises when he was happy. So what? "I'm gonna call him Toby."

"Idiotic name," Sherlock said, lying under his wolf's lean body. A warm tongue swiped across his face in one swoop. He smiled up at the red furred monster.

"Yes, Master _Sherlock_."

"Brat."

John grinned at the knight before lying next to him, his own wrywolf pup sitting on his chest. Both men lay at each other's side, basking in the warmth of the twin suns. John's puppy let out a sneeze on top of him, causing the boy to giggle in twist into Sherlock's chest. The elder Jedi continued to scratch at Redbeard's chin enthusiastically, his fingers twisting the oddly colored fur happily.

"I thought they would have had him put down," Sherlock mumbled softly. "He was loyal to no one, but me. He'd often bite my father, and my mother barely could stand him."

"Who took care of him then?" John asked curiously.

"Mycroft said he was guarding the Gorian Temple, most likely the priestesses cared for him." Sherlock leaned fully into his padawan and sniffed at his ear.

"They must have taken good care him, Master," John smiled at the pup that curled between himself and his master.

"So it would seem."

Redbeard turned his head to John, sniffing eagerly at his human's cub. The boy held perfectly still as Redbeard nuzzled his neck and pawed at his arm. John reached up carefully and stroked the huge beast's neck.

"Master Mycroft's gonna be mad as bantha dung when he finds out we didn't go to the meetings and ended up playing with puppies," John giggled.

"Would you think it unjustified, Padawan Watson?" a cold sneer spoke above them. John froze in fear, his arms tightened around his puppy instinctively. Mycroft was glaring intently at Sherlock. The knight shrugged in response.

"You were correct, Mycroft, a red furred wolf did guard the temple. Were you able to sneak in after John distracted it for you?" Sherlock said, clearly amused. Redbeard was snarling above him, disturbed by the new stranger near his cubs. Also his human had little care in his heart for the new man.

John frowned as his puppy began to growl angrily at the new smelling human. The older Jedi looked as if he were down to his final nerve. John sat up slowly, his pup held close as the master cast him a look of scorn. John set Toby next to his father and lent a hand to his unmoved master. Sherlock continued playing with the wolf's ears, his mind seemed far off. "Did you find what you needed, Mycroft?"

"How could I, Sherlock? I wasn't allowed in," Mycroft said sorely.

"There was hardly a guard team," Sherlock smirked, hiding his face in the wolf's fur.

"Dismiss your wolf, I need your attention," Mycroft commanded gruffly.

"You want me to dismiss an old friend so soon? It's been years, brother mine," at last Sherlock rolled from beneath his wolf and took John's hand. The small hand fit neatly in Sherlock's palm, John grinned as he heaved the older man up. "Having the wolf on our side will make it easier to get the priestess' attention, will it not? They have an unnatural love for animals." Sherlock spoke the word "love" as though it left a bitter taste in his mouth. John grimaced.

"It does not solve the issue of getting them to speak to us. The boy-"

"I will not allow it," Sherlock said firmly. At once he took John's shoulders and pulled him back against his legs. "He is too young for such a mission."

"Sherlock, this is not up for debate. The Gorian council is turning their backs on the Republic, we need the priestesses. We cannot meet with the Highest priestess because we are adult males!" Mycroft's composure was fading.

"It is too dangerous for a child! I will not put him under such stress without me! And you know as well as I, child or no he is in danger at that place for being male."

"And how does he feel about this?" Mycroft snapped, hoping to play on John's young pride.

"All due respect, Master Mycroft, last time Master forbade a mission that I ignored….it did not end well." John rubbed his shoulder uneasily. Sherlock's psyche flinched over their bond, John soothed his master quickly. "If Sherlock says no, Master, it is no."

"Such obedience for a boy whose file of insubordination is meters long."

Redbeard sensed his boy's rage and howled angrily. Sherlock squeezed the child's shoulders almost painfully, but John did not still his miffed master. Slowly he reached for Sherlock's fingers and clutched them in his small hand. He smiled brightly at the elder master. "Yes, Master. Sherlock is an exceptional teacher for bringing such a padawan to heel. Wouldn't you say?" John was rewarded with a tender tug on his braid. Redbeard trotted up behind the boy and nuzzled at him proudly, a long tongue swiped at the back of his head, sending blond hair in every direction. John giggled whole heartedly as the large wolf hoisted him backwards onto its strong shoulders.

From this height he was even taller than Master Mycroft!

"He is my padawan, Mycroft. Respect my wishes for his safety, or we will be on the next transport home," Sherlock said coldly. The knight gave a gentle nudge to his wolf and led his padawan away from the snarling master.

John blinked back at Mycroft.

Master was treating him like a baby. Granted he fully intended to obey Sherlock, but his master didn't have to shout at Mycroft for him. He sighed down at the wolf.

This time, even if Master made him feel like a kid, he would comply.

oOo

They said goodbye to their wolves near the entrance to the temple.

John clung to his cub, crying and all but begging to keep him. In the end Sherlock picked his sobbing padawan up and carried him away, with John babbling his goodbyes behind him. Fault was not placed with the boy, Sherlock understood the want to stay with his cub. But honestly did the boy need to wiggle so much!

"Little one," Sherlock finally snapped as the boy tried to jump over his shoulder. John turned against his neck and tried to curl into a ball, a hiccup emerged from the child. The knight stroked his back evenly. Sometimes raising a boy was….overly tedious.

"How come? How come, Master? Can't the pups stay with us while we're on this planet? Please, please? I'll be good!"

"Little one, is not the state of your behavior that would matter. Mycroft would have my head if I allowed you a cub," Sherlock said boredly. "We will visit them again, John."

John tightened his grip on his master's tunics and nodded tearfully. "Yes, Master."

Sherlock kissed his temple lightly. "Will you survive, my little one?"

John scowled. "I noticed you actually hugged Redbeard, Master mine. That is a courtesy I don't often see from you."

"Shut up, John."

The wretched creature giggled.

"Master, can I ask what Mycroft wants-?"

"No," the knight cut off his child. "You will be less tempted with it this way."

"I'm not tempted," John huffed indignantly. "I learned my lesson."

Sherlock felt a strong shiver through the Force and knew it wasn't only John's trepidation shining through. Again his lips found the smooth skin of his padawan's temple, regret bubbled in his chest. It was a lesson Sherlock never wanted his child to have learned, at least not in that way.

Sherlock crossed the threshold to their temporary home. Satisfied his padawan had calmed himself enough to walk on his own, Sherlock released John to the ground. The boy gave him a pained look, clearly wanting to remain in his master's arms. The knight knelt in front of his child and stroked a calming hand through his hair. "You sulk more than I, little one," Sherlock said fondly.

"I know pets aren't allowed, Master…but still it'd be nice to have something. You know…cause you're gone so often," John mumbled. "Or he could sit with me at your meetings."

Sherlock stiffened. Hurt flashed across their bond so harshly that John recoiled. The older Jedi turned his face from his padawan. "I told you, John. You did not have to come with us, nor did you have to kneel if you did. If you were that bothered by it, you should have informed me."

"That's not…It's not the kneeling thing. I get lonely sometimes, even when we're in the same room. A pup would be nice for when you're busy, so I don't bother you."

Only his child would think himself a burden when he was perfectly behaved. Sherlock drew him close, relishing how easily the small child came to him. John leaned his full weight against Sherlock's shoulder, nestling closely. "I meant you no offense," John said with childish politeness.

"It takes more than your antics to offend me, little one. But you will tell me if something bothers you from now on," Sherlock commanded.

"I am very bothered that you won't allow me to keep the pup, Master," John piped up.

"Shush," Sherlock scoffed with pride.

The pair walked gracefully through the open door of their home. Sherlock became rigid before the child could register what was going on. John froze as Mycroft knelt before the holograms of the entire Jedi council, Sherlock grasped John's shoulders.

"Go to your room, little one," Sherlock's voice had a deadly quiet to it.

"Yes, sir," John said swiftly. He took several steps to his room.

"Wait, youngling," Master Windu said shortly.

"He's-" Sherlock was a silenced by a raised hand.

"You are excused from this meeting, Master Holmes."

They were already cutting him out before he had a chance to defend his reasons. A chance to defend his child from a dangerous mission.

Damn Mycroft.

Damn him!

oOo

The boy knelt at Mycroft's side trembling in fear.

Mycroft did not reach to comfort the child, however John did scoot as close to him as the master allowed. Mycroft readdressed the grandmaster for the silent padawan. It seemed Sherlock had neglected to teach the boy proper edict when dealing with council. John flinched when at last a master addressed him.

"We are sorry to put you through this, my young friend," Master Plo said softly.

John shook his head. "Can't…can't a female master come? She can-"

"Outsiders will be welcome even less," Master Windu said patiently.

"But I'm not-"

Mycroft sighed, "You're scent is that of a Gorian, young one. You will be well disguised."

John stared intently on at his hands.

On his knees again.

"Master says no," John said quietly. "He does not want me to go into a dangerous situation without him."

Mycroft cast the rebelling child a dark look, John clenched his hands into fists. Dark rage bloomed in the master's chest. It was pacified immediately, but it did not stop the dark look he cast the boy. How dare a child, not even a true padawan's age, defy a whole council? He was truly Sherlock's boy. John flexed his hands thoughtfully.

"I don't want to cause offense to the council, truly. But this mission, dismissing him, is an insult undeserved to my master. I will do as the council commands, naturally, but please don't cut him out. He is slightly over protective, and I am slightly disobedient. It is a balance."

Master Yoda struck his chin thoughtfully, no doubt mulling over an appropriate punishment for-

"Take this mission, you will. Close to your master, stay you must," the elder said swiftly. "Treacherous this will be."

"I can do it with Sherlock's help," the boy promised. His jaw set defiantly, ready to take on any accusations of over attachment. Reckless the child may be, his actions were somewhat admirable. How the boy could have learned at Mycroft's feet instead of his little brother's. John fidgeted uncomfortably.

"Then the support of Goria rest on your shoulders, John Watson. You will negotiate for the Republic with the Highest Priestess. May the Force be with you."

And with that, the council cut out.


	8. Chapter 8

Sherlock was beyond enraged.

"Behind my back! With my padawan!" the knight roared.

"He is our last hope of saving this planet, Sherlock," Mycroft snapped back.

John shrank deeper into his seat, trying not to disturb the feuding masters. Sherlock had commanded him to take supper promptly, the boy hadn't dared disobey orders from on high tonight. Not when his master was so kriffing angry.

"He is the last hope of saving this planet for the Republic! This planet has been corrupted since they sent babes to parish if they are not deemed worthy!"

"Watch your emotions, my brother. Your thoughts betray you," Mycroft said calmly.

"Oh yes. The precious Island loves this planet. Forgive me," Sherlock snarked. He threw himself into the seat next to John and ripped away a bit of cheese. Where it would have normally been followed with a protest, this time John stayed perfectly silent. Master could have all his supper if it would calm him down.

John pushed the small plate of meat and cheese towards his teacher, but Sherlock motioned it away. The boy frowned down at his food. "You always feel better when you eat," he mumbled.

Sherlock took a bit more cheese.

Mycroft frowned between the two of them. A look that was getting quite old in John's humble opinion. John took a deep steadying breath, he had to try to calm his mentor down or risk upsetting Mycroft further. Gently he nudged his master side.

"Be nice," he implored. "You haven't apologized yet, Master. You-"

"If you are about to imply that I owe this man something after what he has done this evening, let me halt you, John. In fact I think I shall take the bed meant for me tonight, if you don't mind, Mycroft," Sherlock said sharply as he rose from the table. "John, you will finish your supper and come to bed. You will need rest if we are to depart to the high temple tomorrow."

"I thought the High priestess was in the temple in town," John said surprised.

"On some days," Mycroft said easily. "It would be easier to reach her there than where must go tomorrow."

John swallowed. "Oh."

"You're thoughts betray you also, padawan," Mycroft said taking the seat across from John. "You are uneasy."

John shook his head. He wasn't about to confide in Mycroft, not after this mission. At the start the master had been the most feared swordsman next to Master Dooku. Now he was big poodoo head who was mean to his master every chance he got. John swallowed down a sip of milk.

"Ah, yes. I remember that face. You are cross with me," Mycroft said, surprisingly gentle. "You think I have betrayed Sherlock."

Again there was a frightened head shake. John gripped his mug tightly, observing as the blue liquid sloshed in his cup. It wasn't that he betrayed Sherlock, but Mycroft was being cruel by excluding his master's opinion. John fingered the hilt of his mug. "How come you two don't like each other?"

Mycroft pondered for a moment. "You are evading the question," he said eventually.

"There was no question given, Master," John said nervously into his cup.

Mycroft's lips twitched. "Remember those skills when you begin negotiations."

John's head dipped further over his food. The mood to talk was not with him, but the understanding that Mycroft was the higher rank and had not dismissed him yet kept him planted in his seat. He gingerly ate some of the assortments of meat.

"My padawan used to hate Gorian food," Mycroft said suddenly. "She always claimed it tasted like rancor poodoo."

The trick worked.

John smiled.

"It's alright," he said with a slightly more merry tone. "But Master says I'd eat anything that didn't eat me first. 'Specially when I get hungry."

"If you are anything like Anthea, I imagine that is often."

The boy nodded eagerly. John offered some of his supper to the older man, hoping to hear more of his fellow padawan. Mycroft looked at the offer with some distain, but eventually accepted some.

"How come Anthea was thirteen when she was apprenticed?" John prompted swiftly.

Mycroft swallowed thoughtfully. "Many masters thought her power was too raw, and she was far too reckless to be taken as a padawan. I saw an opportunity to have a strong learner, and I took it."

John looked slightly blank for a moment. "I guess it's better than having the council decide for you…"

Mycroft frowned at the blatant impertinence, John flinched at his own words. "Can I be excused?"

"May I," the master corrected.

John bowed his head. "May I be excused?"

"Would it truly be so awful, young one? Having me for a master?" Mycroft asked quietly.

John panicked. No, no they couldn't take him away from Sherlock. They had passed all their exams, and Sherlock was his master, no one else. He wouldn't allow it, he had to stay with Sherlock.

"Anthea died because she would not obey me. You and your master avoid my instructions at every possible turn. Even now you are far too eager to be away from me," Mycroft said with a sad smile. "Sherlock I can understand, but I never thought I had wronged you."

Oh.

OH!

He had hurt Mycroft's feelings.

It was hard to imagine someone as strong and powerful as Mycroft having feelings that were vulnerable, but Mycroft was a person too. John felt guilt raising in his throat, hugging the master was out of the question. No doubt it would not be appreciated, but John felt a strong need to make amends for his misdemeanor. He shoved his plate away.

"Master, I didn't mean to be disrespectful. I don't think being your padawan would be a terrible thing, but I do have a master of my own. And I will go to him and follow his orders first. Not because you give poor instruction, but…but he's my master," John explained carefully.

Mycroft sighed at the young boy. "You were meant to be mine, you know. I visited you when you were a babe of four."

John nodded, memories of a ginger haired man hanging about when he was younger filtered into his mind. Mycroft had never played with him or reached for him, it was mostly a lingering presences. Even when learning about masters as a youngling, John had never thought of Mycroft presences as a potential master. A master was supposed to reach for their padawan as much padawans reached for masters. That's what Sherlock had taught him anyway. Mycroft had simply never reached.

"_What are you doing there, Jo-Jo?"_

_The four year old toddler blinked up at his new guardian, Master Ali, and smiled. Though he didn't cared to be called Jo-Jo, the offense went unscorned as the tot rolled up from his cot. "S'eeping," he said, while reaching for the Rodian master._

"_Sleeping? How can you be so aware if you are sleeping, my young friend?" The alien master chuckled. He hoisted the growing tot into his arms and beamed as the normally shy child snuggled into him._

_The boy, just learning about the Force and its mystical ways frowned thoughtfully. "The Force, Master?"_

"_Ah, from the mouth of babes," the Jedi smiled. "Master Mycroft has come again today, would you like to see him?"_

_To his surprise the boy's head shook. "No, he never plays wif' me. Master Jenno, she can come," the boy decided swiftly. Jenno was a Falleen knight who had her eyes on one of the older boys, a Michael Stamford. Though she refused to claim him until he was at least twelve. Often times she could be seen rolling about the floor with several younglings in tow._

"_I think you must see Mycroft for a little while, Jo-Jo. He may be your master someday," the Rodian said gently._

"_Nope," the boy said pleasantly. "My master has curly hair, and…and…an…atti-attidude?" _

"_An attitude?"_

"_Yes!" the boy clapped his hands excitedly. "And he'll play wif' me and give me kissies. Master Mycroft won't give kissies."_

"_How do you know this, young one?"_

"_B'isions,"the boy said brightly._

_It was the delusions of a child._

_No Jedi master would ever give kisses. _

_The Rodian master carried the little child into the play room, John's arms tightened around the alien's neck as he noticed Mycroft standing off in the corner. Shyly, he buried his face into his guardian's neck and shook his head. The new Jedi master secretly frightened him. He couldn't explain what was so frightening, only that he did want Master Ali to leave him alone with the stranger. Ali gently extracted the child in order to pass him over to Mycroft._

_The older Jedi made no move to take the child. It was absolutely ridiculous, even the odd knight, Sherlock, would hold the younglings when he came to visit Enora. John blinked up at the older master as if to say "I told you so". He set the small boy down on the play room's matted floor. _

"_Be very good, Jo-Jo," he said lightly. _

"_Yes, Master," the boy said unsurely._

"I hate being called, Jo-Jo," John muttered as his mind flashed back to the present. Nicknames in general drove him mad. His name was John. Just John.

"Poodoo Breath!" Sherlock called from the other room.

John unlaced his left boot and threw it at the young man, Sherlock barely missed it. John's grin only lasted for a short time, he turned back to Mycroft with a small incline of the head. "It's not that you are a bad master, sir. It's just…Sherlock's mine…If roles were reversed, Anthea would have declined Sherlock for you." John smiled brightly and darted to his room where Sherlock was waiting with a left boot in hand. John giggled and reached towards the older man happily.

Sherlock smirked and pressed the little one against his stomach, holding him tightly.

"Little one," he said warmly.

John cooed.

oOo

He could remember everything about the day Anthea had come to him.

Nervous, unsure of why she was being summoned, perhaps she had thought she was at last being sent to Agri-Corps. It was a place for children who did not move on to be padawans, no doubt it had been a frightful time for her.

Dooku had been adamant that he not take a learner only sixteen years his junior. It was far too risky, padawans needed to see their masters as a guardian figure, not a potential equal. But Mycroft had ignored his master's warning and taken the young Twi'lek as his padawan.

"Master? Why me?" she had asked him after they had finally bonded.

"Because you will be a strong Jedi one day, young one. And I need someone powerful to carry on my lineage," Mycroft explained shortly. Anthea had reached a hand down to him to raise him up. In a smooth motion he stood up without the aid of her smaller hand.

"Oh…. Yes, Master." The Twi'lek frowned, "Is that all, Master?"

"Yes, young one."

"Oh…"

oOo

John sat perfectly balanced on the bed, a cup of milk in his hand

Sherlock was fussing about his padawan, preparing the child for bed. A noisy slurp caused Sherlock to scowl sternly at the boy. John giggled and made his master accept his milk glass. The young boy wrapped his arms around his master's strong neck, he buried his nose into the nape and nuzzled it affectionately.

"Are you still mad at me, Master?" the boy asked nervously.

"I was never angry with you, little one," Sherlock said roughly. "You're not at fault here."

The knight lay his child back against the cool sheets and watched closely as the boy fussed about under the covers. Everything had to be completely set before John would consider going to sleep. His bear had to be present, his blankets had to be drawn around him by Sherlock, and his master had to give him a firm kiss to the forehead. It was a simple enough list, not in the least bit demanding or without reason. Sherlock smoothed the sheets around the young Jedi carefully.

"When I make negotiations, Master, will the priestesses be mean to me?"

The small boy trembled with some fear. Sherlock carded a gentle hand in his hair, wishing his padawan did not have to take the mission alone. In truth the priestesses would like hear what the boy had to say and then demand evidence to back up the statements. John was only a little boy, it would be a difficult task for him.

"I don't know, John," Sherlock said fairly. He leaned forward and gently kissed the boy's temple. "You will have to be brave, my padawan."

"But you'll stay with me as long as you can, right?" the boy implored.

"Always."


	9. Chapter 9

Sherlock insisted that John bundle himself warmly.

When John had originally come out in a light snow suit, Sherlock had fussed about him until the boy could no longer move his head from side to side. Honestly, what had the boy been thinking coming out in only a light snow jacket? Even Mycroft was fiercely bundled in preparation for the harsh elements a head. John huffed loudly as Sherlock helped him with his backpack.

"This is ridiculous, Master!" John said with annoyance. "I don't like all these clothes!" Indeed the boy could often be found with no shoes and shirtless.

"John, are truly going to argue with me while Mycroft is standing near?" Sherlock was half tempted to knock the boy down, as an experiment to test the work of gravity on a very angry, bundled, little boy. But John was already turning to Mycroft, demanding that he tell the knight how foolish it was. Mycroft chuckled.

"Even I agree with Sherlock, young one. Where we are going you will want to be bundled," Mycroft said calmingly. Sherlock gave a stiff nod of thanks and checked John over.

The only exposed flesh was on John's round face, he would be well protected from the cold of the mountains. With his odd shaped nose and pouting lower lip, John looked no older than five. Sherlock knelt slowly and cupped the boy's chin delicately. "It is for your safety, John. You are not used to the cold, your people were not built to survive it."

John made a low whimpering sound and pushed gently into Sherlock's chest. The knight held him closely to his shoulder, soothing him with soft words. John nodded slowly as his master pulled away. "Come along, John," he said lightly.

"Yes, Master." John toddled eagerly behind Sherlock. The knight could barely resist sweeping his padawan up into his arms and mocking him mercilessly. But with his brother present, and he was forced only to guide John closer to his side and grin down at the boy. John rolled his eyes, but smiled all the same.

Sherlock gave a shrill whistle that cut through the thin morning air, John grabbed his ears in surprise. The knight chuckled.

There was a thundering of feet as two familiar wrywolves came into sight. John began doing the small, in place, dance he often did when excited. Affection creeped into Sherlock's chest. As a boy, no one had been more important to him than Redbeard. Now John held that title, but was not jealous by its former. In fact, the boy seemed to genuinely love Redbeard. Sherlock continued to muse on the thought until his overzealous wolf plowed him over. John giggled delightedly as Sherlock was pinned beneath two large paws.

Brat.

"Get off!" he snapped at the wolf, shoving him away. John's giggles became shrieks of joy as Sherlock chased the little boy about the yard. At last he snatched the boy against his chest, John pressed his hooded head under the knight's chin and nuzzled him. Sherlock ran a slow finger down his child's oddly shaped nose and tapped it lightly. John giggled happily.

"Master, can't I just take off the boots?" John thrust out his lower lip. "Just the boots?"

"Little one, you will need them," Sherlock said sternly. "Don't be childish."

"Ah…" the child whined.

Sherlock helped John sit astride his wrywolf's shoulders, the boy pulled himself higher onto his mount. Sherlock swung himself up behind the boy after attaching their bag to Redbeard's sides. Another shrill whistle cut through the still air, shattering in it effectively. Thunderous footsteps announced the arrival of Redbeard's mate, to which Mycroft strode over almost uneasily.

"She will be calm?" he questioned Sherlock evenly.

"Probably," Sherlock grinned, pulling John closer to him. The boy tugged at his master sleeves insistently.

"What about the pups?"

"Safe with the priestesses," Sherlock said calmly. He wrapped another cloak around John's shoulders, shielding him from the future weather. "If you get cold, you will tell me."

John huffed indignantly. "Yes, Master."

Sherlock dug his heels into Redbeard's sides with a command forward. The wolf surged forward, causing John to tumble back into Sherlock's chest. The knight chuckled as they turned into a thicket, a mountain out lining the horizon.

Their destination on top.

oOo

It was so wizard!

John clutched at the fur between Redbeard's shoulder blades, every now and then stealing glances at Mycroft. The master looked as though he rode wrywolves every day of his life as he balanced gracefully on the silver female's back.

His own master had an absolutely thrilled look on his face. At least from what John could sense. Stupid clothes kept him from looking backwards. Sherlock's right arm was circled tightly around him, keeping the unstable child from falling. John shuddered as a sudden chill filtered through the air.

_Speak through the bond now, little one. It is about to get dangerously cold. Pull your scarf up._

John obediently pulled his scarf over his nose as the temperature around them plummeted. The child bowed his head against the fierce wind, his eyes stung painfully.

_Master!_

Sherlock turned the boy around so he could bury his face in to soft fabrics of the knight's coat. The nine year old whimpered painfully, his natural instincts unused to freezing temperatures. Another cloak was drawn around the boy's shoulders.

_You were bred for the tropics, I knew this would be hard on you._

Master sounded angry.

More so John could feel the tension grow between his master and Mycroft. He felt a sudden shift, heard a sudden grunt, and managed to peek out of his master's arm pit. Mycroft had been pelted with some of the frozen crystals formed in to a ball. Sherlock grinned triumphantly and turned John's face back towards the warmth.

"How do you fair, brother mine?" Sherlock called above the wind. "I know your body is more padded than John's or mine! Is it working to your advantage?"

There was an abrupt popping noise, and John looked up to see his master's face cover in ice.

_Did you truly expect him not to get you back, Master?_

_Shut up, John_.

John giggled.

_How much further?_

_Days._

John mentally groaned and nestled in closer to Sherlock. The knight kept the child held close as the wolves leapt over the snowy terrain. The wind whipped around them cruelly, John shook his head as the minutes turned into hours. How was Sherlock able to with stand the cold so easily?

_When I was a boy, your grandfather used to drag me into the mountains in just my undergarments._

John blinked up at Sherlock, surprised with the story.

_At that age I was mostly used to heat, burns from Moriarty. I thought perhaps I had angered Lestrade into taking me up into a freezing climate. But your grandfather did not make me face it alone, he came with, in nothing but his socks at one point. That was how I knew it wasn't a punishment, Moriarty never took burns with me. I found myself enjoying the cold much more than the heat._

_You like this weather, Master?_ John was appalled.

_I thrive in it. My mind is sharper in the frost, the ice is not a punishment. It is learning and strength to me. I would have lived on Hoth if Master Yoda had allowed it._

_There is no one on Hoth, Sherlock…_

_Precisely._

The rode in silence for ages until Sherlock called a halt to their expedition and drove the wolves into a cave. John's numb fingers remained tangled in Redbeard's fur, he could hardly slide down as Sherlock called to him.

"Why have we stopped?" Mycroft demanded at once. "We agreed on at least another four hours of-"

"John is weary, he hungers, and he needs to warm himself, Mycroft. He is only nine years old, we knew a twenty hour ride was a stretch." Sherlock hefted John from Redbeard's back and pulled him close. "He cannot go another four minutes."

John tried to apologize, he really did, but his numb face refused to move for him. He settled into Sherlock's warmth peacefully, Mycroft scowling behind them. At once he was stripped of his soaking clothes and placed in front of a warm fire. Sherlock draped a dry cloak around his shoulders and ordered Redbeard to lay around the boy. A cocoon of content warmth, the boy smiled gratefully.

Sherlock passed him over a decent amount of food and a packet of nectar. After the boy lay warmed and full, he set out to feed the wolves. John found himself leaning heavily into Redbeard's stomach, falling asleep to the sounds of Sherlock speaking in a low voice to his childhood friend.

The blond head lolled forward, and the boy was gone.

oOo

Mycroft wasn't arguing with him.

Mycroft always argued with him about John.

Was he _dying_?

Sherlock made certain John was warm enough, tucked him in with his sleeping robe and bear, and placed a firm kiss on the boy's forehead. Redbeard could easily sense the knight's affection for the boy, and therefore was more protective of him in honor of his human's caring. Sherlock stroked a soft hand through the damp blond hair. His child had done admirably for a nine year old. No doubt most children would have cried or whined. John had only complained once that his eyes hurt.

Strong boy.

The young man set off in the direction of his brother, briefly flirting with the idea of bringing a life-starting kit, when he came across the elder Holmes sitting cross legged in front of a hologram of a stone faced man. A wild gesture was made at the holograms expense, and Mycroft looked less than calm.

"I warned them this is the path I would take. Whether or not the council choose to act on it is not my fault, Father. We are already a third of the way there. You cannot halt our progress," Mycroft said angered.

"You are a bastard, Mycroft. How do you think the council is reacting to being outsmarted by a bastard boy!" their father roared.

"I think you will find I am hardly a boy anymore, Papa. I warn you not to cross me on this mission. This planet is my home, I only want it in safety."

"We have always dealt with both the Republic and the Separatists. Why should we change our ways now?" Jovian retorted crossly.

"This is not up for discussion," Mycroft said with a silencing hand. "My companion and I are on our way to meet with the priestesses, we have a child in our tow, this will be addressed."

"I have not had the pleasure of meeting your companion yet, perhaps he will be more reasonable with the situation."

"He is taking care of the child and cannot be disturbed," Mycroft said abruptly. The hologram flickered with annoyance, the Holmes sire glared down at his eldest son.

"You will do more harm than good."

"It is a risk we shall take," the master waved away the hologram with a tired flick of the wrist. He passed an exhausted hand over his face before raising from his place on the floor. With a great sigh, he stretched his lower back. "Horrible man."

"And yet you've chosen to take on his scent," Sherlock said coolly.

"To appease, brother mine. Something I find you to be quite foreign at."

Sherlock growled lowly, an open challenge that Mycroft declined with a small shrug of the shoulders. "How is the boy?"

"He cannot be trusted," Sherlock said coldly, ignoring the question.

"Now, brother mine, whoever said I trust was involved."

Sherlock huffed angrily as Mycroft strode pass him with his head held high. The knight steadied himself carefully. Former words from his master brought his heart rate from back to its normal pace. It had been a long lesson from Lestrade to stop hating his father. Three years it had taken his master to calm him.

It was not something he wanted John sensing from him.

oOo

Mycroft was woken in the middle of the night to a rough shaking of his shoulder.

With less grace than he'd ever admit, he roused himself swiftly. The hilt of saber was in his hands in a matter of seconds, but his brother's cool gaze stilled him. The older master groaned softly and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Do not tell me you had a nightmare?"

Sherlock was opening the blanket cocoon Mycroft had made around himself.

"Sherlock," the elder Holmes started to protest. The knight at last succeeded in removing the little warmth he had. Cold air attacked him with little mercy, as it had been doing all night, but its ferocity increased aggressively. Sherlock was laying something against his chest that was warm and solid. Mycroft shifted uneasily with the parcel he had been passed.

The boy.

A confused eyebrow arched as Sherlock began rewrapping the new duo.

"Take him, he is as warm as a furnace. I have Redbeard to keep me warm, you were being insufferable with your constant whimpering about the cold," Sherlock said with no bite. There may have even been some sympathy in his eyes.

"This almost makes you caring," Mycroft said evenly.

"It just means your wolf hasn't taken to you yet. These wolves are like heated mattress, the fact that yours won't go near you at night makes it difficult to adapt," Sherlock snapped.

Still kind.

The blasted child was mistaking him for Sherlock and trying to snuggle with him. A broad hand to the back of the boy's neck stilled him shortly. Blue eyes flickered open rapidly, at once alert that he was no longer up close with his master. Sherlock leant in close, whispered something softly into the boy's ear, and went back to his own sleeping area where his wolf was waiting. John seemed to accept whatever Sherlock had decreed and settled carefully into the Jedi master's hold.

By the Force the boy was warm!

Sherlock must have kept him close to the temperature of his home world.

The boy was no longer cuddling, but proceeded to lay his head on the master's shoulder. Silently he closed his eyes, his breathing began to steady itself. In a matter of minutes the boy was sleeping again. Panicked, Mycroft looked around for his younger brother to take the padawan back. There was every possibility that Mycroft could roll and crush him in the night, or thrash out in nightmare or-

_You won't. Breathe Mycroft. You think I would give my padawan to someone idiotic enough to crush him in the night?_

_I-_

_Go to sleep you daft man._

With a final look at the sleeping boy, Mycroft released his fears into the Force and shifted.

_Fine._


End file.
